


Freak

by FanFicAddict7



Series: Playlist-A Bucky Barnes Anthology [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Suicidal Thoughts, Wakanda (Marvel)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-01-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:48:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22247377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanFicAddict7/pseuds/FanFicAddict7
Summary: Bucky is dealing with his guilt of being the Winter Soldier, while he and Steve are on the run. He spirals quickly, prompting Steve to step in.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Playlist-A Bucky Barnes Anthology [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1371169
Kudos: 36





	Freak

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Bucky has an intense panic attack at the beginning of this fic, and there is mention of blood, violence, a punched mirror, all that intense stuff, plus some mild language

_ I never really felt alive _

_ I'm heading for a suicide _

_ I'll never really get it right _

_ I hope this noose is on tight _

_ And when I stare into the ocean _

_ I hope those bricks will take me homeward _

_ With a gun in my hand and my soul on sight _

**_-Freak_ ** **King Charles**

  
  


Bucky’s breathing came in gasps. Why couldn’t he breathe? He stumbled to the bathroom of the hotel room he was temporarily occupying and when he looked, both his hands were red. Turning on the faucet, Bucky frantically scrubbed his hands. He tried harder and harder, but the red crept farther up his arms the harder he scrubbed. It didn’t bother him that the water was burning the flesh of his organic hand, that the bathroom had fogged with the steam from the faucet. Tears didn’t fall down his face, no, they were constant and heavy, leaving him blotchy. His sobs were only broken by frantic whispers of “No.” 

When he could no longer feel his hand, and the red had reached his elbows, the crashing of glass joined the sound of Bucky sobbing and the water running as the mirror shattered. Broken glass cascaded down, into the sink, onto the floor, embedded in the flesh of his knuckles; he collapsed to his knees, hair covering his face. 

The door burst open, the weak lock no match for the force that it encountered. Wood splinters joined the glass on the floor and Bucky looked up to his childhood friend standing in the doorway, pistol drawn.

“Do it, please.” The desperate whisper escaped Bucky’s throat, strangled by his guilt. “Just get it over with. I can’t do it.”

“Do what, Bucky?” Steve’s voice dripped with caution and concern. 

“Just shoot me. Please. I can’t get it off. I can’t do this.” His sobs renewed in strength. 

“I’m not going to shoot you, Bucky. I would never.” The pistol lowered, then was tucked back into its holster. 

“JUST FUCKING DO IT ALREADY!!! YOU CAN’T SAVE ME! YOU CAN’T FIX ME! TONY WAS RIGHT! I’M A MONSTER! I’m a monster.” Bucky reached for a shard of glass at his knees. Steve grabbed it from him, kneeling in front of him.

“No,” the blond man whispered, dropping the makeshift weapon before grabbing both of Bucky’s shoulders.

The shriek that escaped Bucky sounded like something from a beast in a fantasy movie. It was a sound no man should ever make. He screamed until his throat was raw and he had no breath left to fuel it, collapsing against Steve as the remainder of his energy just dissipated. 

Suddenly, Bucky could feel himself being lifted off the floor to his feet, before being sat on the toilet. He could feel the sting of antiseptic, the cool of ointment, the pressure of bandaging. He could feel himself being lifted up and carried. He didn’t however, remember feeling himself be put down onto a bed. The exhaustion took hold of him en route, and he passed out.

A few times, he almost came to, hearing a familiar voice talk to no one before slipping back down into something resembling sleep. He would later learn the voice he heard was Steve on the phone with T’Challa, arranging for Bucky to go to Wakanda, hoping Shuri might be able to help with the memories, the trauma, the guilt left in Bucky’s head from the Winter Soldier.

  
  


✦-✦-✦-✦

“Why am I doing this, Steve? What difference will it make?” Bucky was sitting outside, Steve beside him, the Wakandan grass warm under his one hand.

“What do you mean?”

“Why am I going through all these treatments? Why are Shuri and the rest of them going to all this trouble for me?” Bucky finally looked over at Steve, who was staring at him with a furrowed brow.

“Because, Buck, we want you to get better, to heal. What Hydra did to you wasn’t your fault, and you shouldn’t have to keep paying for it.” Bucky suspected Steve felt some guilt, some responsibility for what happened to him. Felt if he hadn’t let his companion fall, none of this would have happened.

“But it won’t make a difference. I won’t be able to go home. Tony, the government, hell, all of America will still see me as the bad guy, as  _ him.  _ None of this will change anything.” Bucky’s head fell, a few stray strands that had escaped their tie covering his face.

“It will make a difference to me, seeing you heal. And more importantly, it’ll make a difference to  _ you _ .” Steve adjusted himself to better look Bucky in the face. “You deserve a chance. To be you. I know you won’t be the same Bucky from Brooklyn or the same Bucky you were when we were in the Army. But you have a chance to be whoever Bucky is now without the Winter Soldier invading your head. Because that person they created wasn’t - isn’t you. He was a tool created by assholes to destroy the world, to use your body. But his soul, his heart? They aren’t you and you deserve to be free of him, as much as is possible.”

Silence hung in the air between them for half a minute before Bucky finally looked up at Steve properly.

“T’Challa offered for me to keep this. The hut, the land, the goats. My own peace. My own place, away from the politics and the fighting and the looks. I haven’t given him an answer.”

“I think you should accept it. You seem happier than you have since leaving Hydra.” Bucky was surprised. He and Steve had never voluntarily opted to live so far apart before. They always stayed close, looked out for each other, leaned on their collective strength.

“What about you?” The unspoken question hiding behind his words.

“I’m still traveling a lot, but I’ll visit and we will stay in touch. Besides, Shuri has told me you’ve begun making friends.” That earned a chuckle out of Bucky. Shuri must have told Steve about the local children gravitating towards him.

“Alright. I guess you’re right. I’ll talk to T’Challa about staying.”

“Does that mean you’ll finally cave and let Shuri give you a damn phone?” The sun began to set as laughter carried over the hills. Two old friends sat, laughing and joking like old times and for just a moment, the world seemed at peace, the calm before the storm.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Calling Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23418802) by [crackdkettle](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crackdkettle/pseuds/crackdkettle)




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